


Blot Out the Sun

by Syntaniel



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-03 01:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15808329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syntaniel/pseuds/Syntaniel
Summary: A somewhat takeoff of Where There's a Will There's a War, though that was unintentional. While there's nothing explicit, this is slash. If that's not your cup of tea, pass on by.





	Blot Out the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually something I wrote some time ago. Not long after 9-11 actually. It was suggested I post it so, here it is.

 

“Rage compounded upon rage. Rage enough to blot out the sun.”*

 

 

It might have been noon. Then again, it might have been midnight for all the sun Hawkeye could see as he stumbled out of Post-Op. The green, olive green to be precise, was all his brain managed to comprehend as far as the eye could see. But after 41 hours of surgery, his brain wasn’t exactly a reliable source. The casualties, gods, the casualties just wouldn’t stop and with BJ not yet back from leave they were shorthanded as it was. There was so much blood. Even after he’d changed, Hawk’s greens were still splotched with it.

 

And after the waves of casualties had slowed there had been one soldier, a Private MacIntyre, who reminded him so much of his old friend and who needed so much surgery. Hawkeye wasn’t sure how long he’d been working on the kid but he knew at least two watches had passed while he’d had tried to reconstruct most of his torso. MacIntyre was still alive though Hawkeye wasn’t sure how long that would last despite some of his best work. But Potter had ordered him out to rest and he was too tired to think of the odds. His feet were apparently of the opinion he was too tired to be walking, Hawk conceded as his hip glanced hard off a garbage can. But he could see the Swamp and the relief almost defeated his remaining endurance. Sleep. Blessed sleep. Now all he needed was BJ back and things would be… well better at least.

 

Hell, Hawkeye couldn’t think at this point. He needed sleep.

 

 

Green looked so much worse after three days of silk and color in Seoul, BJ thought. A few random nurses wandered by but they looked so tired he didn’t have the heart to bother them. Camp seemed pretty quiet at the moment. “Maybe even quiet enough I’ll be able to unpack before the choppers show up.” Something near a sneer twisted his newly shaved lip as he murmured to himself, “Not getting cynical at all. Not me.”

 

He sighed and adjusted his duffel a bit. Despite three days of leave, BJ could still feel exhaustion creeping up on him. The time away hadn’t solved anything. Oh yeah, he could look at an operating room again without wanting to scream but he’d gone away alone to think and come back just as confused. B.J.’s step slowed again as the Swamp entered his field of vision, filling it completely. _I can’t face him. I don’t have any answers yet._

 

Unbidden the look on Hawkeye’s face before he left entered B.J.’s mind. Pierce had been surprised and vaguely hurt when he found out BJ was taking leave, alone. Hunnicut knew his friend was worried; BJ had been more distant lately. But he couldn’t risk it. He just couldn’t risk Hawkeye’s far too perceptive sight figuring out that… that maybe he’d see more than friendship in B.J.’s eyes. Peg’s last letter had just tipped the muddle of emotions over the edge. So he’d been keeping his distance and trying not to see the hurt in the glances Hawkeye threw at him. Leaving had been a last desperate attempt to figure something, anything, out. But his leave was over. The reprieve he’d stolen hadn’t really done him any good.

 

BJ meandered by a PA but he gave the radio announcement little heed. A couple of soldiers were clustered behind the pole but even their conversation didn’t intrude on his thoughts until he was almost upon them.

 

“The guy was screaming. Christopherson, I think his name was. But I mean he was really screaming and Pierce wouldn’t come.”

 

Hunnicut stopped in his tracks. _What the…_

 

“Damn. What happened to him?”

 

“Died. Screamed until his voice gave out and then just… died. And Pierce never came. Don’t know where he was. Probably off with some nurse but he sure as hell wasn’t there.”

 

_Never… came…_ He couldn’t believe it. His mouth was open and BJ shut it with a snap that rattled through his teeth. His stomach dropped hard and burned hotly as his mind raced, the words echoing through his head like exploding shells. Hawk let a patient die. _**Hawk**_ let a patient die. It was nonesensical, unbelievable, and immediately a catalyst for all the stress of the past few weeks to congeal with all the rage over a hundred deaths and it overwhelmed him. Blinded by the force of it, BJ found his feet propelling him forward of their own accord.

 

The door to the Swamp swung open with a groan of protest but the inhabitant on the bunk near him did not move. He was hunched over on the edge of the cot, button up shirt hanging off his left shoulder and trailing down his back where the buttons laid pooled on the bed. Hawkeye made no move to take the shirt the rest of the way off or to lie down. He made no moves at all.

 

BJ didn’t bother waiting for Hawkeye to look up or even for the door to slam it’s way back to the tentative wooden frame. “How could you?” The words were so low they were almost a hiss as he rounded the cot. “You just let him die. Did you even bother to listen to him scream?”

 

Red bloodshot eyes looked up at him and a distant part of BJ felt horrified at the look in those eyes but the rage, the helpless rage that had built up over kid after kid that he just could not help and been fueled by equally helpless feelings that had grown for his best friend, the rage was too much. “He died screaming, Hawk.” And the sheer weight of the emotion in his voice put a sneer on the name. “And you did nothing.”

 

 

 

Tired. So very tired and yet Hawkeye hadn’t been able to make his head fall onto the pillow. The movement was beyond him, closing his eyes was beyond him. He was tired even beyond sleeping. He’d managed to get part of his shirt off but that was it. Granted it certainly wouldn’t be the first time he slept in his clothes but it was never a comfortable experience.

 

But the door slammed open and like a miracle BJ was there. Then the voice reached him. It took him a moment to comprehend the words because the voice wasn’t BJ Hunnicut’s. It couldn’t be B.J.’s. “How could you? You just let him die.”

 

_Die? No he was alive when I left oh no…_ Hawk’s mind shot back to the young man he’d left on a hospital cot. The boy with his old friend’s name had been breathing then and had looked to remain so. He couldn’t have died. Not after all that work. So many hours of blood and guts and trauma. He couldn’t have… But Hawk knew he could have. BJ said he did and BJ wouldn’t lie to him. Not about something like this.

 

Then B.J.’s next words set in, “He died screaming, Hawk.” And the acid BJ put into his name burned against Hawkeye’s skin. His eyes were stinging but they turned towards BJ anyway. Darkness moved in his best friend’s eyes though his refused to focus on much of anything. _You let him die._ Hawk closed his eyes against the words.

 

‘No.’ Hawkeye’s mouth formed the word soundlessly. _So young… He was breathing when I left…_ “No.” This time the word made it out but only barely. “MacIntyre was breathing when I left. There was a pulse…”

 

The pounding of the hot blood in B.J.’s ears made it impossible to comprehend Hawkeye’s words. Rage made him deaf and pain surged beneath his skin as he stalked over to his cot and flung down his bag. “How could you? You just let him scream… Might as well have killed him yourself.” The words choked in his throat with the emotions surging through them. It was only too easy to see in his mind how the soldier had died. It had happened before and likely would happen again and it always hurt so damn much.

And to think that Hawkeye, his Hawkeye, no not his… never his… but to think that Hawkeye could just leave a man to that… BJ couldn’t even countenance the thought. Instead shadowed eyes burned like coals, glaring accusation at Hawkeye until Hawk could take it no longer.

 

 

_Die… screaming… Killed him, killed him, killed him… wouldn’t Trapper be proud? BJ so obviously is…_ Hawkeye wanted to scream but he couldn’t breathe. His legs found their way to standing of their own power and they stumbled forward. He had to see, had to find what he’d missed, how it had gone so wrong… Vision blurred to blackness as Hawkeye slammed out of the tent door, away from the gaze of his best friend.

 

 

 

“Whoa there son. I don’t see any smoke. What’s the hurry?”

 

It took Pierce’s brain a moment to recognize Col. Potter’s voice but when the realization set in he stopped short. The voice came from behind him so Hawkeye took a moment to compose his face before he turned – to resurrect some semblance of the joker he knew Potter was expecting. “There may not be any smoke but I got a date with a nurse so hot there should be.” It wasn’t his best but it would do. If nothing else the lecherous bent to the comment would distract Potter.

 

And it did. The Col. smiled though the smile was tight and grim. “Hunnicut back yet? Battalion Aid’s in a bad way. They need some help and I’m pretty sure it’s his turn on the draw.”

 

_BJ on the front again?_ Hawk’s mind went off on its own. _No… he’ll come back so quiet and it’ll hurt him… He’ll have to hear them scream forever… And if he dies…_ There was no stopping the shudder that shook his lean frame for a moment. _No, no, bad enough I… He shouldn’t have to. Not again. I won’t let it happen to him._ “I’ll go.” Hawkeye heard the words without at first realizing they were his own.

 

Potter raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. He knew about MacIntyre's surgery and after three wars he knew a lot about expiation. And since Pierce wasn’t the type to develop a death wish… “If you want it…” Keen eyes raked over Hawkeye’s ragged form.

 

Hawk cracked a grin, though it looked a little feeble with the red eyes, “What am I gonna do around here? Sleep? Perish the thought. I don’t think I know how anymore.”

 

Potter cocked a smile at that, hearing what Pierce didn’t say. “All right then. Someone’s gotta go with Hunnicut not back and if you’re not gonna sleep you might as well work. Have off with you. Take a jeep and Hawkeye…” He waited for Hawkeye’s eyes. “Be careful.”

 

“Aye aye sir.” And Hawk was off.

 

 

 

It was hours later when BJ ventured forth from the Swamp, only a modicum calmer than he had been. He couldn’t tell exactly what time it was, it seemed the sun utterly refused to shine, but he wanted to at least take a walk and try and work off the blinding fury that seemed to have taken hold of him. _I was too harsh…_

 

“Hunnicut! You are back!” If the voice hadn’t of informed BJ who was approaching, the soft clot of horseshoes certainly would have.

 

“Col. Potter, did you enjoy your five day reprieve from me?” The joking tone felt like rust in his mouth but he forced it out anyway; there was no need to make the colonel worry as well.

 

“Dagnabbit.” Potter’s brow creased fiercely. “Pierce didn’t tell me you were back. He didn’t have to go…”

 

_Oh God…_ “Go?” B.J.'s stomach fell like a mortar to devastating effect. It took a few times to get words to form in his mouth and they sounded tarnished when they finally emerged, “Where… where’d he go?”

 

Potter’s lips tightened, “Battalion Aid. They’re hard pressed to keep even these days and one of their surgeons hit the point lottery. Homeward bound and all that.” His voice stayed tight and controlled but his hands twisted in Sophie’s reins while the mare pranced slightly in place.

 

“How long…” Hunnicut’s eyes closed briefly as he swallowed hard. “How long is he gonna be out there?”

 

“Three days.” Potter looked down at BJ with compassion, “He’ll be all right son. Pierce is a lot stronger than he looks.”

 

_No he isn’t… not when he’s been hurt… not when I hurt him…god please…_ The thought trailed off into desperate silence. The sound of choppers saved him from answering. _God Hawk please be alive… anything but stay alive…_

 

 

 

18 hours, 34 minutes and god only knew how many seconds passed before B.J. next emerged from the operating room with a groan on his lips. Repeated calls made by Klinger had yielded exactly zip in regards to news and the tension and the strain of waiting was almost as bad as the stress of operating so relentlessly. _Hawk’s got it so much worse._ Even 8 hours ago that thought would have pierced BJ to the core but now… He’d settled into a state of emotional numbness and the pain of the thought could only be a dull throb in comparison.

 

“Captain!”

 

Detachedly, BJ thought that the tone in Klinger’s voice could mean nothing good. He turned precisely on one heel and watched as the Lebanese corporal covered the ground between them. The running feet made no noise on the ground and BJ noticed that he couldn’t hear Klinger’s voice either. Instead he lip read the words as Klinger said them, ‘Aid station overrun… survivors captured… bug out…”

 

_So that’s that._ B.J. felt his mind go blank and somewhere, in the distance, he heard somebody choking out something like a sob but for the life of him, he didn’t know who.

 

 

 

Pain. Cold. Wet. The sensations filtered through Hawkeye’s mind and became his whole world as he blinked his way back to consciousness. Eventually thoughts returned and Hawkeye found his bruised mouth twisting in a bitter smile. _Sure, stay conscious through over 24 hours of surgery, through the bombing. Even conscious for your own damn capture, but get dragged twenty feet and make a smart ass remark and you’re out like a light._

 

Blue eyes opened but it was a close thing on the one side. Hawk vaguely remembered being hit but thankfully the memory had been dimmed by unconsciousness. After a few dozen blinks his vision cleared and Hawk could see bars. Bamboo bars. “Great décor.” He muttered. “I must get the name of the decorator.”

 

“Doc?” The voice was weak and the cough that punctuated the question was thick with fluid. “That you?”

 

“Back by popular demand, soldier.” Pierce did his best to grin at the boy as he leaned over him. “What’s your name and what hurts? Whatever order you like.”

 

The kid smiled feebly at him. “John Frasier. And pretty much everything. One of the support beams got me when the tent fell. And that was after the bullet was done.” His breath hitched on some of the words and Hawkeye’s eyes darkened at the sound of his lungs when he put his ear to his chest.

 

“Feels like you did in some ribs there buddy. Don’t worry though. I’ll do the best I can.” Hawkeye’s glance drifted over the other three soldiers in the cage with them. “I’ll do the best I can.”

 

 

 

“A few units have gone over the aid site.” Potter’s voice fell into the suddenly hush office. The senior officers stared up at him waiting… Winchester, Houlihan, and Father Mulcahy all had mirroring anxiety in their eyes – everyone knew who was the heart of the camp. But B.J.’s eyes were swirling with anguish though the rest of him was as still as stone as he waited for news of his friend. Potter couldn’t look him in the eyes in the face of that pain. But there was no one else to do it. “The dead have been counted and none of them match Pierce’s description. And there’s evidence that the survivors were taken prisoner. They haven’t been able to follow.”

 

BJ tried to stand but his knees wouldn’t do it. They shook against his will and he just couldn’t… he couldn’t… Hawk… “Hawk…” And he didn’t recognize his voice, the twisted mangled sound of it. Hunnicut tried to close his mouth, to seal in the sounds, the pain but a sob escaped him. And he couldn’t stand.

 

 

 

"No!” Pierce’s voice was raw from protesting and his hands were tired but still holding on with all they had as the North Korean butted him again trying to get to wounded soldier under him. “Damn you, he’ll die if you move him before I’m done! Just let me finish!”

 

The commanding officer’s face had grown more and more stone like as the confrontation had gone on and now he barked out some command in sharp curt tones. Pierce knew he spoke some English but didn’t want to listen to anything Hawkeye said. The North Korean soldier moved away and Hawkeye looked up warily, unsure whether it was safe to sit up. The officer barked out another command and two other soldiers came up and grabbed Hawkeye by the arms, hauling him to his feet.

 

“Oh boy,” Hawk said, his voice wobbling slightly, “And we haven’t even been introduced.” The futility of trying to walk while being dragged backwards quickly came over him and he let his legs go slack and he couldn’t help but think, This is not a trip to Disneyland.

            

 

 

Hawkeye, his uniform in tatters around a form grown even leaner from lack of food, stood with a rusted shovel, thrusting it into the ground even though his arms trembled with the effort. And behind him, a North Korean soldier, who didn’t… couldn’t understand that Hawkeye would never harm anyone for any reason, was raising his gun… raising it and pulling his finger against the trigger…

 

“NO!!!” BJ jerked up with such violence the cot screeched in protest. His shirt was glued to his chest with sweat and he couldn’t catch even a half a breath. The shot that hadn’t happened echoed through his brain, a hideous premonition it seemed of a future his brain couldn’t even comprehend.

 

Across the tent, Winchester sat up and for a moment started to move but then a look of profound pity crossed his face and he lay back down and turned away, giving as much privacy as he could.

 

BJ didn’t even notice. His shoulders had slumped over, so that he curled in on himself, and though a hand came up to cover his mouth, the sobs slipped out anyway. Ragged breaths broke up the rough sounds as BJ forced himself to stand. Wherever he’d intended to head off to, the staggering steps were not going to get him far. Instead, BJ collapsed onto Hawkeye’s bunk, and his hands grabbed at the pillow that had been untouched for 4 days. “Hawkeye…” It was a strangled whisper as exhaustion took over and BJ fell back into sleep. “Hawk…”

 

 

It was dark when a haggard shape stumbled into the captives area, helped along by the prodding of two rifles. John Frasier woke up in time to see Hawkeye grimace as he moved ever so carefully. “You okay doc?”

 

“Peachy.” The word was thick through the split lip but Hawkeye grinned as best he could. “Just the price of fame, I guess. If I get much more popular we’re just gonna have to find another engagement.”

 

That got a smile out of Frasier before he fell back asleep, never noticing in the dark the blood on Hawkeye’s shirt. Pierce would be awake until dawn.

 

 

 

“Dammit, get that out of here! The war isn’t killing enough people you have to help?!” BJ would have winced at the tone of his voice if he could hear it. He knew he was irritable and on a hairpin trigger but he couldn’t help it. The world was swathed in bandages it felt like – thick and muted, with no color and no sound. Vague parts of his brain knew that it was just his worry for Hawk, just his longing for his friend that was doing this to him but they weren’t the parts in control.

 

The nurse he’d yelled at cringed slightly but she didn’t say a word. Only Potter commented and the soft, “Easy, son,” didn’t penetrate the thick bindings on his senses. He was aware they all knew, aware that his secret was out – gone and lost forever, just like… No! BJ clamped down on his thoughts and focused on the wounded man on the table in front of him. His world narrowed down to blood and he could feel thick bubbles of sick irony clogging his throat even as his hands moved on, silently.

 

 

“Well Captain, lucky for us you’re a doc huh? When our replacement never showed we thought for sure we’d never get you lot processed and through. It was real convenient that you could do all the forms. Almost as lucky as us finding you in that camp we were cleaning out.” Corporal Jonesson said as he slung a stack of paperwork onto the desk.

 

Hawkeye mustered up a weak smile, “Yeah lucky just wait till you see my bill. I charge by the hour for the paperwork. Extra if I write on it.” Three days at the regiment’s headquarters had eased the emaciated look that had been starting to show on the lean form and the clean uniform did wonders towards making Hawkeye feel remotely like a human being again.

 

“Well, here’s some good news for you. Icorp sent orders that anyone with minor injuries could be sent back to their respective units. Your patients have all been forwarded on or reassigned and you’ve been cleared to head back towards the 4077 today if you want.” The clerk ruffled through the papers, “According to your papers here, you said all you’ve got is some bumps, minor lacerations, and con..con…”

 

“Contusions.” Pierce’s voice was flat but the corporal didn’t know the difference. Hawkeye slid himself off the desk, unable to avoid wincing as the skin on his back pulled and pain flashed before his eyes. His breath caught and it took him a moment before he could move again. If Jonesson hadn’t been so busy sorting papers, Hawkeye might have lost the game. As it was…

 

“There’s a jeep out front for you. You can be back home for dinner.”

 

“Such as it is.” Hawk said dryly as he straightened. “This jeep, is it the model that comes with a driver or just the basic?”

 

“We can spare a driver if you want, Captain Pierce. After what you been…” Jonesson saw the stiff frozen look on Hawk’s face just in time to stop the words. Silence stopped whatever else he would have said and his mouth worked as he scrambled to find a sentence. Any sentence. “Uh, driver, yeah. We have those. No problem. Be ready anytime you want to go.”

 

 

 

Bj hadn’t known he was holding his breath until he heard the jeep rumbling up to the camp. Wouldn’t have known it still except for the burn of the air in his lungs when he saw Hawkeye slumped in the passenger seat. It felt like he hadn’t breathed in days. But Hawkeye was there, looking tired and bruised about the edges, but alive. He’d heard the report, Potter had made sure to tell him that Hawkeye had only been diagnosed with bruises, but it was so much better to see Hawkeye.

 

Except Hawkeye wouldn’t look at him. He glanced up once and jerked his gaze away like he’d been burned and BJ flinched at it, hearing his own voice shouting at Hawkeye the last time they met.

 

BJ hadn’t been the only person who heard for the jeep; hadn’t been the only person looking for it. Potter was there too, welcoming Hawkeye back with a brisk but heartfelt voice. BJ can’t hear the words over the rushing in his ears but Hawkeye smiled, a small weary smile.

 

Margaret brushes by him and Hawkeye nods at her, stopping her as he unfolds his lanky limbs from the jeep. He still hasn’t looked at BJ and the pain of that lodges in BJ’s chest like a bullet wound. His blood is running in his ears and he catches snippets of Hawk talking to Margaret, asking her to meet him in the supply tent later that night. The rage of it rolls over BJ in a red rush, compounding days of worry and fear and hurt. And BJ can’t breathe again. He turns away. There might not be enough alcohol in the universe to deal with this, but he was going to try. 

 

 

                                                                                                                     

“I’m not going to kill him. I’m not going to kill him. Have to remember that. That’s important.” BJ muttered to himself as he strode determinedly towards the supply tent. His head hammered with the force of all the drinks he’d applied beforehand and his mouth felt like sandpaper though he wasn’t sure if that was from the drinks or from something else. _Must be quiet. Don’t want him to know it’s not… **her** and run away. Margaret will only be distracted for so long._ BJ reminded himself as he reached the door flap and went inside.

 

The interior of the tent was fairly dark, unsurprising as there was only one lamp shedding a dull glow in the corner. BJ followed the glow forward as if it were a siren call.

He could see Hawk in front of him, sitting with his back to the door on a leftover gurney from the look of it. Something coiled deep inside BJ let go a little in relief again at the sight of him. Hawkeye was here, not in danger in some forsaken place, not digging his own nameless grave, but here. For a moment, the sensation, even through the cloud of drunkenness, almost blunted the rage… but only for a moment.

 

BJ moved a few steps closer, keeping his steps as light as he could. The button up over shirt, green of course, lay crumpled on the bunk beside Hawk’s slouched torso. BJ’s eyes caught on Hawkeye’s vertebrae, more pronounced now than they should ever be, and following the bumps through the thin cover of his undershirt, BJ saw something darker… Rust colored spots that made lightning burn in his belly.

 

No sound had been made yet and Pierce didn’t seem to have been alerted to his presence but BJ stilled as Hawkeye moved. Long fingers, the cuticles still split and ragged, reached up and grasped the edge of the pale undershirt. He lifted it up a few inches and then to BJ’s mystification had to let it go. Again he tried and this time, BJ saw the wince even from behind - as if just that movement hurt more than he’d thought possible. But on his third try, Hawk managed to get his arms up and the shirt slid over his head.

 

The field bandage that covered Hawkeye’s back was larger than BJ had feared and the spots of rust colored blood were darker. It seemed like there were so many of them. But it was the hint of shame he could see in Hawk’s frame, the language of which he knew better than any spoken words, that pulled BJ forward whether he willed it or no. Careful though he tried to be, his foot must have landed on a branch or a splinter of board that he couldn’t see because a crack resounded in the relative silence. Frozen, BJ waited to be discovered.

 

Once, twice, Hawkeye’s torso moved but he never made it even a fourth of the way around. BJ heard Hawk sigh and saw the lean fingers come up to rub a weary face. “Thank you, Margaret. I appreciate this. I just… It’s not going to make a difference if they’re reported or not, they won’t send me home for 'surface wounds', and I don’t want to…” The silence was awkward as if Hawkeye were fumbling and pulling for words. “I don’t want to bring that here. Not now. Not to him. I can’t…” And Hawk’s voice broke and BJ felt his chest tighten in response as his feet propelled him forward to stand behind Pierce suddenly convinced that he had no idea what was going on here. The dark head shook in front of him and Hawkeye’s voice was oddly rough, strange and foreign without the joking tones. “Let’s just get it over with please.”

 

And his hands moved to the bandage and started to unravel it while BJ watched, his mind paralyzed. He felt the absurd urge to stop him, stop him because he didn’t want to know what could do this to Hawkeye Pierce. But then the bandages were off and BJ couldn’t speak at all.

 

Vicious red welts crossed angrily with lacerations and smears of dried and crusted blood, the wounds screamed to BJ’s sight. He’d never breathe again he was sure – his mind was chanting, _whip whip whip… oh god oh god he was whipped oh god Hawk…_ A rasping breath grated in the air and BJ only realized it came from him when Hawkeye’s shoulders slumped slightly.

 

“I know, Margaret. But it will heal. Just wash them out - it’s too late for stiches - and I’ll put the bandage back on and it will heal. More or less. Better if you get to washing them out soon.” Finally, BJ could tear his eyes away and see the supplies next to his friend but he couldn’t seem to reach out to them. He must have taken too long because Hawk spoke again, “I know I’m mesmerizing, Margaret, but please…” The joking tone fell away, “I’m tired. I want to go back to the Swamp, see BJ there – flesh and blood - and sleep.”

BJ’s hands shook as he reached for the bandage and he was about to speak when he heard Hawkeye say, “I don’t want him to know, Margaret. I don’t want his pity. He was angry when I left; deserved to be too. McIntyre died and I… but that doesn’t matter. I don’t want his pity too.”

 

And that hurt BJ almost as much as the sight of Hawk’s back. He didn’t know how to explain how wrong he’d been, how he’d trusted Hawkeye so little. He didn’t know how to make it right, so BJ had to settle for dipping the sterile rag in tepid water. As gently as he could, he washed the blood from Hawkeye’s back, wincing with his friend every time the rag caught on a ragged, partially healed edge of skin. Water ran red and BJ could feel tears falling against his will. They blinded him for a moment and his hand slipped on the curve of Hawk’s shoulder blade.

 

At the touch of that hand, broader and rougher than Margaret’s ever could be, Hawk gasped, more than in pain - in recognition. Despite how much it hurt, Hawkeye’s head turned enough to see the tall shoulder and the edge of that lean form. “BJ,” and his name in that voice, sounding so very ruined, was something BJ never wanted to hear again.

 

He had to put down the rag and it took him several tries to speak. “I’m gonna bandage now. Raise your arms a bit, okay?” BJ’s voice came out clinical and detached, belying the tears still finding their way down his face, but that retreat was the only way to get through this. Hawk raised his arms as he could and the skin pulled far too tightly against his ribs. BJ noted bruises as he wound the bandage, placing gauze pads over the worst of the lacerations and something in the back of his head was screaming but he didn’t make a sound.

 

Hawk was breathing faster now and a glimpse of his face left BJ with the impression of dawning panic but BJ couldn’t react to it. Like he was frozen in his detachment, he just kept winding, securing the bandage as best he could to support the ribs while protecting the wounds. He seemed to be able to still see them through the bandage, as if the red gashes were superimposed on his sight. But when he shook his head, they were gone and his hands were tucking under the edge of the gauze. “All done.” His voice wavered just slightly but the clinical detachment held. “Do you…” BJ swallowed hard. “Is there anything else that needs attention?”

 

He was going to check himself, palpate the worst bruises to see if they heralded cracked bones or worse but Hawkeye moved too fast, sliding off the gurney before BJ could stop him. “No. I’m fine.” Hawk’s movements were careful now that he was out of reach; he only gingerly moved his torso and back. Slowly, ever so slowly, he put his shirt back on in utter silence.

 

“They beat you?” The sound of BJ’s voice surprised them both. BJ couldn’t identify the tone in it whether it was alcohol or something worse.

 

Hawkeye refused to turn in response though, “What do you want, BJ?” There was something ineffably tired in his voice, it made BJ’s bones ache in sympathy.

 

“Answer me, Hawk. Did they beat you?” It was important, for some reason it was so important for Hawk to answer him even though he knew what the answer had to be.

Piercing eyes turned to him and locked on, the yellow green shades still sallowly surrounding the right eye glaring in the dim light. “Why, BJ?” He had to lean on a stack of boxes to remain standing, “Why?” BJ’s eyes darted back and forth, his hands flexed, and he fought the urge to pace but the intensity of Hawkeye’s voice brought him short. “You want every sordid detail? Why?”

 

Blue eyes jerked up and Bj nearly spat out, “So I know what else to hate them for.” Clinical detachment slipped away, far out of reach, control bid a swift farewell, and for once, BJ felt words spilling out without control, “I hate them. They did that to you. They whipped you.” The words were pulled raw from him by force and his abdomen pulled tight just to make him breathe. “They… I hate them, Hawk. They took you and hurt you and I want to know how much I have to hate them for. How much damage they did.” He couldn’t hold his head up because he knew what he really meant and he couldn’t lie to Hawkeye. Between the liquor and the truth of this, he couldn’t even try. “How much damage I caused.”

 

“Beej…” Hawkeye’s footsteps sounded in the tent. BJ didn’t look up but he saw Hawkeye lift his hand out of the corner of his eye and then that hand cupped his neck. “BJ, this was not your fault.”

 

The grip forced his head to rise but BJ closed his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see. “It was supposed to be me. It was my turn…”

 

“It was my choice.” Hawk interrupted, not slacking his hold at all even though his knuckles were turning pale. “I choose to go out. I took the duty.”

 

“Because I…”

 

“No.” Hawkeye wouldn’t even let him finish the sentence. He couldn’t let BJ keep thinking this. “You’ve been stressed enough lately, you’d just gotten into camp, and with McIntyre dead…” Hawk paused to swallow; that one still hurt. “I had no active patients. It made more sense for me to go.”

 

“McIntyre’s not dead.” The spontaneous speaking seemed to go on. “I had it all wrong. I misunderstood. It was a Christopherson, one of Winchestor’s – there was nothing anyone could do and sedatives didn’t work. McIntyre was alive. I didn’t know and then you were gone.” He couldn’t stop, the words degenerated into babble. “I took over McIntyre’s case. He shipped out two days ago. Alive. I’m sorry Hawk. I’m so…”

 

“Alive?” What was left of the color in Hawkeye’s face fled and he backed up a few steps to clutch onto the gurney again. “He… I…” He shook his head but the look of shock refused to leave. “No, I’m too tired. I can’t… deal with this. I… No.”

 

BJ had to reach for him, there was no way he could resist. “Hawkeye.”

 

Hawk looked up at the tone of his voice and something he saw in BJ’s eyes made his whole chest contract. “No. You’re drunk, BJ. And there’s no way you’d respect me in the morning. Besides… It doesn’t matter. Go sleep it off. Maybe we can fall into a more pleasant nightmare.”

 

There had to be something he could say… Something, anything… But BJ couldn’t find the words. Maybe there really was nothing to say because all he could find was, “Let me help you back to the Swamp, Hawk.”

 

And BJ didn’t know if it was proof of Hawk’s tiredness or merely proof of their friendship that Hawkeye leaned on him and let him help. They took the walk slowly; BJ wasn’t willing to risk hurting Hawk if he could help it.

 

The Swamp seemed almost like a haven and Hawkeye seemed to gain a little more strength from the sight of it. He pulled away from BJ and staggered only a little as he pulled on the door. Hawkeye could barely stop himself from falling face first onto the cot. It took a bit to find a way he could sleep – face first turned out to be the best option after all. Days and days of weariness caught up with him and before he blacked out, the last thing Hawkeye saw was BJ sitting down on his own cot and looking at him with an expression that was so sad, Hawk almost believed what he’d seen in BJ’s eyes was true.

 

 

Hawkeye could taste the dirt in his mouth before he could see and it sent fear shuddering through him. “No. It couldn’t be a dream. I was there. BJ was… No.” Eyes snapped open and he could see bars and that was enough to raise his blood pressure to panic. “No.” He could see clamps of olive green uniforms, splashed with red blood, piled like kindling.

 

He was still there, still captive, still held in mud and pain. “No. Please no.” He couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t breathe. His lungs were hauling in air as fast as they could but it wasn’t enough. Not if he was here. He shook his head and his hands clutched at the bars with enough force to bruise. “No!”

Looking down at his hands, Hawkeye saw blood seeping through his fingers. It was seeping; now his hands were soaking with red. All he could see was the blood… A road to freedom? made of flesh and bone and blood… his own… the others…

 

“Doctor! Help him.”

 

“What?” Hawk looked around and there were white covered faces all staring at him, their features made indistinguishable by the operating light.

 

“You have to make it right, doctor. It wasn’t enough.” And the white figure pointed down and Hawkeye looked down, past his blood covered hands into a ravaged chest cavity that looked so familiar. He looked to the patient’s face – it was McIntyre.

 

“But…” His voice trailed off in confusion.

 

“Don’t just let him die, doctor.”

 

“But he…” and Hawk looked at the kid’s face again and it was Trapper. Trapper right there on the table – his life bleeding out onto Hawkeye’s hands.

 

“It’s too late.” The ghost nurse said next to him.

 

“No!” Hawkeye cried out. “It’s not too late! I did everything I could…” Desperately, he looked up to Trapper’s face but it was pale and grey and so still. Then suddenly Trapper’s eyes snapped open to stare directly at him and he heard Trapper’s voice, “You let me die.”

 

“No!”

 

“Hawkeye!” The voice cut through Hawkeye’s cry. “Hawkeye, wake up!” There was pain in that voice that Hawk could never deny and he jerked awake with a gasp. Arms were holding him up and he could hear B.J.’s voice, sounding as raw and jagged as an open wound. “It’s okay, Hawkeye. You’re safe. You’re safe and McIntyre’s alive. It’s all right.”

Hawkeye glanced around wildly for a minute and then his gaze settled on BJ’s undershirt. He was still gasping for air but the ragged gasps were slowing, leaving exhaustion in its wake. His head bowed slowly, curving down until his forehead bumped BJ’s shoulder though the movement made him wince.

 

“It’ll be all right.”

 

Hawkeye could hear the rumble of the words through BJ’s chest and he heard himself sigh out, “You’ve never lied to me before. Now is not the time to start.”

 

“Hawkeye…” There was something in BJ’s voice that made Hawk look up, extremely aware of BJ’s hands clutching his arms. But he couldn’t find anything to say.

BJ could feel Hawkeye trembling and the agony in his eyes drove BJ to act. He knew it was a bad idea but he couldn’t stand that look on Hawkeye’s face. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Hawkeye’s quickly, tenderly. Then he drew back and leaned his forehead against his friend’s, “It will be as all right as we can make it.”

 

Hawkeye’s brain stopped for a moment when BJ kissed him. Chapped lips pressed against his and Hawkeye would have sworn he was still dreaming. Until BJ pulled back and he saw the pain in his friend’s eyes. Hawkeye pulled back in response even as his heart ached to believe BJ’s words. But he couldn’t have this if it meant hurting BJ. If it meant that BJ would lose… everything for something that he didn’t really want, then Hawkeye couldn’t. “No. This can’t happen.” Even his voice was defeated.

 

And BJ froze. Those words chilled him all the way to the bone and BJ moved back a bit in shock, releasing Hawkeye’s arms. Hawkeye was still talking but it took the words some time to filter through the shock – it was BJ’s worst fear coming true.

 

Hawkeye knew he was babbling but BJ suddenly looked so pale. “Not this way, BJ. You’re trying to help, I know, but pity isn’t a good enough reason to throw away everything. Not on me, not now. I won’t let you do this.”

 

The words caught up to BJ late which was the only reason Hawkeye was allowed to finish his speech. Because once he heard the words, BJ’s shock dissolved into hope. “Pity? Hawk…” He grabbed onto Hawkeye’s arms to keep him from turning away or laying down while he paused to gather his thoughts. “Hawk, I… it’s not pity. I care about you. Why do you think I went on leave alone? I had to think because I had to be sure. I had to… It’s not pity, Hawkeye. You’re the strongest person I know. I can’t pity you.” He looked Hawk dead in the eyes, hoping the truth of his words could be seen. “I want this. I care for you. Hell, I think I might be in love with you! I’ve been trying… but I need you. Even Peg figured it out.”

 

BJ leaned forward to touch his forehead to Hawkeye’s, “She wrote and she knew… and she said it was okay, we – the three of us – can work it out when we get home. So I meant it. It’ll be as all right as we can make it.”

 

Hawk couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be, not now, but it was. BJ telling him… He searched BJ’s eyes and for the first time in forever found them completely open to him and what he saw there… fear, hope, determination, desire, and yes, sympathy, but no pity and something that looked like more than caring. The corner of his mouth quirked up, “Here I was all ready to do the right thing and you had to spoil it.”

 

The joking tone seemed to transform BJ’s face when it reached him and a tentative smile started to spread, “Well, you can’t have all the fun. Besides Winchester does enough of the martyr thing for all of us.” And how good it felt to be back at this place again, back to this. But then the moment faded into something else.

 

“Well damn.” Hawkeye said abruptly, before leaning forward to take BJ’s lips. BJ wasn’t slow to respond. Their mouths dueled sweetly and his hands slid up Hawkeye’s arms to pull his head and neck closer. And Hawkeye came willingly to the comfort BJ offered. But it pulled the skin on his back and he had to rip himself away with a cry.

 

“Hawkeye!” BJ’s hands jerked away from Hawkeye’s head and floated for a moment before settling again on his arms.

 

“Sorry.” Hawk gasped out, closing his eyes against the pain radiating down his back and echoing through every bruise. “Superman has left the building.”

 

BJ ignored his own jumping pulse to ask, “Are you all right? Do you want meds?”

 

Shaking his head no, Hawkeye tried to breathe evenly, “I’ll be all right.”

 

BJ’s shoulders slumped in relief, “I just keep screwing this up. I can’t seem to stop hurting you."

 

Grating through it was, Hawkeye chuckled, “Remind me to tell you about the time I went on a date with nurse Eddie. But seriously, BJ, how many times do I have to tell you it’s not your fault? I chose to go out there and it was my big mouth that got me in trouble and just now it was me who did the stretching.” He ran the side of his hand down BJ’s face. “You cleaned my wounds and bandaged me up. Brought me here and woke me up before I lost what’s left of my soul. You help me.” He smiled gently. “I’m getting more and more convinced that you save me.”

 

BJ swallowed a few times before he even tried to speak and his voice was still hoarse and gritty when he spoke, “Always gotta steal the best lines don’t you? How’s a guy supposed to follow that?”

 

Hawkeye laughed just a little, “You don’t.” The laughter left his face and deep eyes stared at BJ, “I’m scared of this, BJ.”

 

“Scared?.. Of me?”

 

“No.” Hawkeye met his eyes as bravely as he could, “Of this, all of this.” He gestured to the minute space between them. “You’re risking so much, even if Peg said okay, and I… you’re risking it all for a broken toy.”

 

“You’re not a toy. And you’re not broken. Damaged maybe but not broken.” The words were vehement. BJ’s hands came up and cradled Hawk’s neck, forcing him to look at him, “And if there was a risk, you’d be worth it.” His eyes willed Hawkeye to believe it.

 

Hawkeye looked into BJ’s eyes for a long moment and then his head leaned forward again. This time BJ cradled him in his arms and was close enough to hear him say, “I’ll try.”

 

“That’s all I ask.” BJ whispered. “That’s all any one can ask here.”

 

 

 

“Turning and turning in the widening gyre/ the falcon cannot hear the falconer / things fall apart; the center cannot hold; / mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, / the blood dimmed tide is loosed and everywhere / the ceremony of innocence is drowned” W. Butler Yeats “Second Coming”

 

**Author's Note:**

> *Title and immediate title quote from Amazing Spider-Man #36 (2001).


End file.
